Butt Out
August, 1994
I was stopped at a light on Tony Montana Avenue in Santa Monica, sunroof and windows wide open, puffing away happily on a cigar. Relaxing alone in the car, it seemed that I had found one of the few places where my family--or anyone else--would let me smoke the occasional stogie. Suddenly, an adolescent voice from the car alongside ordered me to "Put it out!"What? Which is what I asked the kid, politely enough under the circumstances. His mother told him to roll up the window, hissing I...
